Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
DARIO
Judith Mars is ruining every plan I've ever made.
I've always lived by rigid structure, and clear boundaries. I don't do messy. I don't do complicated. And I absolutely don't do falling for my temporary wife.
Except I'm doing exactly that.
I watch her sleeping beside me, curls wild against the pillow, lips slightly parted.
Morning sunlight filters through the window, casting golden patterns across her brown skin.
It's been five days since the tree lighting ceremony.
Five days of her sleeping in my bed. Five days of conversations that stretch late into the night.
Five days of discovering every inch of her body, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her scream my name.
Five days of falling deeper into something I never planned for.
She stirs, eyes fluttering open. When she sees me watching, her lips curve into a sleepy smile that does dangerous things to my chest. "Morning, mountain man."
"Morning, city girl." I brush a curl from her face, allowing myself the indulgence of tracing her cheekbone with my thumb. "Sleep well?"
"Mmm." She stretches like a satisfied cat. "Eventually."
The memory of how we exhausted ourselves last night sends heat pooling low in my stomach. I'd taken her to my playroom, introduced her to the pleasure of silk restraints and feather-light touches that built to an intensity that left us both trembling.
"Eventually is right." I press a kiss to her forehead, then roll out of bed. "Coffee?"
"Please." She props herself up on one elbow, watching me pull on sweatpants. "What's on the agenda today? More paperwork with Silas?"
"No. He's filing everything today. Should be official by next week." I pause at the doorway, taking in the sight of her naked in my bed. Something possessive and primal growls in my chest. "I was thinking we could head to town. Get a real Christmas tree."
Her eyes widen slightly. "A real tree? I saw the artificial one in your storage boxes."
"That's for years when the weather's too bad to get to town." I lean against the doorframe. "Family tradition is to cut a fresh one when possible."
"You really do take Christmas seriously." She sits up fully, the sheet falling away to reveal her bare breasts. My mouth goes dry at the sight. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"There's still so much more to learn about me. I’m like an onion, lot of layers to peel back." The words come out more revealing than intended, suggesting a future beyond our arrangement.
Her smile brightens, genuine enthusiasm lighting her features. "I'd love to help pick out a tree."
"Good." I nod once, decisive. "We'll head to town after breakfast. There's a tree farm just outside Crimson Hollow."
In the kitchen, I set about making coffee while attempting to untangle the complicated knot of emotions I've been studiously ignoring.
Getting a Christmas tree together feels like another step over a line we've already obliterated.
Another domestic ritual that belongs to real couples, not temporary arrangements.
Judith joins me ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and one of my flannel shirts knotted at her waist. The sight of her in my clothes satisfies something primitive in me.
"Something smells amazing." She moves to the stove where I've started breakfast.
"Just bacon and eggs. Nothing fancy." I hand her a mug of coffee, prepared exactly how she likes it: splash of cream, one sugar.
"Still amazing." She sips the coffee, humming with appreciation. "I could get used to this."
The casual comment lands like a stone in still water, ripples of possibility expanding outward. Could get used to this. As if there's a future beyond December 26th. As if this isn't just a temporary solution to our respective problems.
I turn back to the stove, focusing on not burning the eggs. "Sleep shirt looks better on you than me."
"Perks of being the wife." She says it lightly, teasingly, but the word sends another ripple through me.
Wife. A title with an expiration date.
We eat breakfast with comfortable familiarity, discussing the merits of various Christmas tree varieties.
Judith advocates for a classic Douglas fir while I explain why the native Engelmann spruce is superior for high elevation homes.
The debate is playful, domestic in a way that twists something in my chest.
After cleaning up, we bundle into warm clothes and head to my truck. The drive to town is filled with easy conversation and the occasional brush of her hand against mine. When did this become so natural? When did her touch become something I anticipate rather than tolerate?
The tree farm buzzes with families despite the early hour. Children dart between rows of evergreens while parents debate height and fullness. Christmas music plays from speakers mounted on weathered fence posts. The scent of pine and wood smoke fills the crisp mountain air.
"It's like something from a Christmas card." Judith's eyes sparkle with childlike delight as we exit the truck.
"Wait till you taste their hot chocolate." I guide her toward the entrance, hand settling naturally at the small of her back. "Best in the county."
We collect a handsaw from the attendant and venture into the rows of trees. Judith moves ahead of me, evaluating each specimen with the same focused attention she brings to everything. The sight of her intense consideration over something as simple as a Christmas tree brings a smile to my face.
"What about this one?" She stops before a perfectly shaped spruce, around seven feet tall.
I circle the tree, assessing. "Good symmetry. Strong branches. Healthy color." I nod approval. "You have a good eye."
Her smile at the simple praise does something to my insides. "I aim to please."
The words trigger memories of her kneeling before me last night, looking up with those dark eyes, saying those exact words in a very different context. Heat floods my system, and I step closer, backing her against the tree.
"You certainly do." My voice drops lower as I cage her between my arms. "Very thoroughly."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Dario. We're in public."
"No one can see us behind this tree." I brush my lips along her jaw, gratified by her shiver. "Just wanted to remind you what you have to look forward to when we get home."
"As if I could forget." She tilts her head, giving me better access to the sensitive spot below her ear. "But if you keep this up, we won't make it home."
With reluctance, I step back. "Can't have that. I have plans for my wife that require privacy."
The promise in my words brings a flush to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "Then let's get this tree and go."
I make quick work of cutting down the spruce while Judith holds it steady. We carry it together to the processing area, where staff wrap it in netting for transport. While they work, I buy two cups of hot chocolate from the small concession stand.
"You weren't kidding." She sighs with appreciation after the first sip. "This is incredible."
"Told you." I watch her enjoyment, finding satisfaction in her simple pleasure. "They add cinnamon and nutmeg."
"And probably crack. This is addictive." She takes another sip, leaving a small chocolate mustache on her upper lip.
Without thinking, I reach out, wiping it away with my thumb. The intimate gesture feels natural, automatic. Her eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths.
"Dario..." She starts, then stops, uncertainty shadowing her expression.
"We should get going." I step back, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "Another storm's supposed to roll in this afternoon."
The moment breaks, but the tension lingers as we secure the tree to the truck bed and head back toward the mountain. Halfway home, snow begins to fall, fat flakes drifting across the windshield. Judith watches the white landscape with quiet wonder.
"Never gets old." She speaks softly, almost to herself. "The snow. It's so different from the city."
"Cleaner. Quieter." I navigate the increasingly slick road with practiced ease. "Nothing like mountain snow."
"I used to hate winter." She turns slightly toward me. "The cold, the inconvenience, the gray slush everywhere. But here..."
"It's different."
"Everything's different here." Her words carry weight beyond the weather.
We lapse into comfortable silence for the remainder of the drive. By the time we reach the cabin, the snow is falling steadily, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland. I park as close to the porch as possible to minimize our time carrying the tree through the snowfall.
"Ready?" I kill the engine, turning to her.
"Ready." She pulls on gloves, determination in her expression.
Together, we manhandle the tree from the truck to the porch and through the front door.
The scent of fresh pine immediately fills the cabin, mingling with the lingering aroma of coffee from breakfast. We position it in the corner of the living room by the large windows, where it can be seen from most of the main floor.
"Perfect." Judith steps back, surveying our work. "Now we just need decorations."
"In the storage room." I brush pine needles from my hands. "Want to help me bring them out?"
She follows me to the storage area, where I retrieve the carefully labeled Christmas bins. Together we carry them to the living room, setting them near the tree.
"I'll make more hot chocolate." She heads toward the kitchen. "Something tells me tree decorating with Dario requires sustenance."
I open the first bin, unpacking ornaments wrapped in tissue paper.
Many are handmade, carved by my grandfather or father, passed down through generations.
Others I've added over the years, each with its own significance.
I'm arranging them on the coffee table when Judith returns with two steaming mugs.